Crave
by Niloriel1701
Summary: Dean experiences various cravings. M/M. Destiel. Rated M for the future chapters.
1. Cravings

**Hello all. Still working on my other fics, but had a momentary urge to write this after I finished one of the seasons. Still praying that they will FINALLY openly have a bit of destiel, because come on it couldn't be more obvious (even my mother sees it). This is going to have a few more parts to it. Enjoy! **

**R&R as always, lovely people! **

**Day 1**

"You'll be alright, won't you honey?" Lisa's attempted reassurance bothers Dean. He can feel the irritation bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

He wishes they would go already. Just go. He doesn't want to see either of them. He wants to be alone, and he wants to be with his feelings – not very manly, granted – but that's what he wants.

"I'll be fine. Have a good time. Enjoy yourself."

Minutes after his wife and son leave without a trace of their belongings or their energy, Dean huffs a sigh and slumps against the wall.

It seems like he has had little to no time to himself, and he hates it. He hates her glossy little lips, and her endearing beckons for him to "come to bed". He hates the way she always eyes him with suspicion when he is slumped at the computer trying to find a reason to be on his own.

It's hardly been any time at all, and Sam's departure to hell still has Dean feeling raw on the inside, like an ulcer that is fresh and sore. He hardly eats and when he does, a foul acid laps up his throat, rejecting the nourishment. When he sleeps, he has little to no resolution in his dreams, nor upon waking does he feel refreshed from the nights tossing and turning, but even more deprived than before.

The house is dead silent, and there is hardly a car on the quiet street that evening. Lisa took his ben with her on a "business" trip, but Dean knows it was more of a holiday for them and he couldn't give a rats ass regardless.

He takes his time getting up, and decides that maybe, just maybe, he could get something down tonight because he wife and son are gone – finally – and the stress level is low.

The kitchen seems barren and dead. He decides that some plain pasta would do him proud. His mind is now buzzing with images, flashes, of his brother and so he tries to busy himself with the packaging of the noodles.

_100% Whole wheat. _

Dean decidedly hates this "healthy" crap. His water boils, and he dumps the pasta in the pot, burning himself with some scalding water in the process.

"Shit! Son of a-" He rubs his hand under cold water, cussing internally.

His pasta is overdone, and slightly gelatinous. He finds himself shoveling back the whole dish, regardless of his inner turmoil. He hasn't finished a meal in weeks.

He doesn't know what to do with himself. He doesn't want porn. He doesn't want sex. He doesn't want…girls. Anything. Its only Friday. He is listless and has 3 more nights until Lisa is home.

He sits down on his large couch, taking up a small segment of the space and turns on a sports channel.

_Relax. Just relax. _He thinks to himself.

The bright game is flashing before his eyes. And in a few minutes, other bright images are flashing before his eyes. Or his minds eye. Sam's face. Michael. Their entwined grasp as they slip over the cusp. Sammy—

Dean's heart is racing and his chest is tight.

The older Winchester gets up abruptly and races up the stairs, his feet loud and clumsy. He finds his way to the bathroom and makes it in time for his pathetic dinner to make another appearance. His shoulders are hunched, and he clutches the toilet bowl.

Same old drill.

His face is as white as a sheet, and his body heaves once more, rejecting all of the nourishment that it is able.

He wipes his face. Brushes his teeth and strips down to his boxers. Early bed time, maybe. But even so, he always ends up sitting - wide awake, thoughts on playback like a broken, 90's cassette.

He sits, his legs hanging over his side of the mattress.

His bed feels so empty, but is isn't Lisa he wants. It just feels so…alone. _He_ feels so alone. He doesn't want any form of sexual fulfillment. But maybe he doesn't know _what_ he wants?

"I…don't want to be alone." He mumbles to the space around him, as if waiting for it to respond.

Then, an uncalled for warmth hits him when he hears a soft _whoosh_.

"I don't want you to _be_ alone, Dean."

His toes tingle, and a small tinge of excitement dances around his stomach.

"Ca…" He puts his hands to his eyes, rubbing them. It wouldn't be him… it couldn't. "Cas?"

A beige trench coat strides slowly towards him. A ruffled brown head of hair can be made out through deans fingers. He removes his hands from his face and takes in the glorious angel standing before him. His bed is empty, yes, but he does _not _feel alone now.

Maybe Cas could just stand in his room for the night, and maybe then would he get a good sleep.

"What are you-…its - its good to see…" Dean finds he is at a loss for words.

He sticks out his hand for a handshake, not knowing how else to greet his angel.

The Icelandic blue eyes seem puzzled, and Cas's soft hand takes Dean's larger one and threads their fingers together eagerly.

"No, no - its…" Dean eyes the pair of hands and feels a small heat rising in his cheeks but does not have the heart to tell Cas what he really intended.

"Dean, are you sick?" After minutes, Cas lets Dean's hand drop and probes him with questioning eyes.

"No, I… were you watching me?"

"Yes, of course I was." Cas's squinty eyes make an appearance. So matter of fact.

"I'm not sick, I've just been – its been weird, you know. Um –" Dean clears his throat. "-after Sammy, so I've just been a little, uh-…" Tears sting Deans eyes.

Dean rubs his face profusely, and now cannot seem to prevent the tears. He finds that a warm pair of arms are encircling him, and he decides that its okay to be upset – just this once – and proceeds to bury his face in the brown tangle of hair.

His body is racking with sobs, and his nose is dripping. The strong arms don't leave him, though. They remain a constant.

"Cas?" Dean mumbles into the now wet area of trenchcoat that his tears have soaked through.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind just – staying here for a bit longer. Just… I mean… if you aren't…"

"I will stay, dean."

He lays down on his side, and turns his lights out. Cas sits at the end of the bed, keeping a watchful eye over him.

The silence of the night is calming. But there is a certain anticipation in the air. Dean feels still a certain lacking.

His breathing is level, and he can hear Cas breathing too. Castiel is back.

His eyelids begin to droop, and then he feels the space next to him sink under the weight of Castiel.

Suddenly Dean knows what he wants. He _craves _it.

In the darkness of the room, in pure silence, Cas closes the space between him and Dean. He puts a cautious arm around the Winchester and nothing is said.

Dean's mind becomes tranquil. The warm body next to him is more fulfilling than any he has ever slept beside, and he decidedly realizes that he craves that contact. He craves to be cuddled – by Cas, more specifically.

Whether Cas is asleep or not, Dean falls easily into a peaceful rest and at some point during the night he takes a hold of Cas's arm and doesn't let it go. Dean hasn't had that good a sleep in weeks – perhaps longer.


	2. More Cravings

**OOOOH YAY ANOTHER CHAPTER! I actually had a split second to do the write thing. omg. **

**Enjoy all you lovelies! **

**xoxoxo Nil**

**Day 2**

It has been some time since Cas was there for dean, there for him meaning – of course, not sexually, but, sleeping in deans bed. Comforting him with the simple consolation of his presence. Lisa was gone on a simple trip, Dean was simply struggling with Sam's absence. Simple, simple, simple. Everything was, back then.

Of course it has been a long while… Sam is back – himself again. And dean is raw, raging with the recent visit he had with the angel that he hardly knows now.

The angel that gave him up for a deal with Crowley.

And as he sits here, alone in a scrappy motel room that he drove to by himself in order to do… what? He doesn't know. He doesn't know what he was thinking, or what he is thinking now.

He is worried, he is hurt. But Dean is scared – and its only because he isn't worried about Lisa, he isn't worried about Ben… about Crowley. He is just worried about Cas. He is desperately _maimed_ by the fact that he can't call him anymore, can't think about him anymore, can't need him anymore without this sick feeling of guilt. Of desolate longing.

He sits on the edge of the bed, a parallel to years ago when Lisa was gone and he needed Cas. He shakes a little, and picks up a large bottle of whiskey from the battered, yellow side table with a lopsided lamp sitting vicariously close to the edge. Except this time, he is all alone. And Cas won't come back.

What happened to Cas?

What happened to what they_ had_?

Then it hits him. Maybe it wasn't what they had… maybe they never had anything to begin with. Did he imagine it all along? Wishful thinking. It was Deans fault. He didn't see that an angel of god would never want to be in any way loyal to someone like Dean. Of course Cas would never have stayed. He would never have stayed with the Winchesters.

"I knew I never deserved you Cas. That's why you're a-wall, isn't it'?– whatever we used to have. Family, friends and all that. It was too good to be real, wasn't it?" Dean speaks to the air, knowing that no one will respond.

"WASN'T IT?" Liquid laps up the side of the bottle as Dean's hand shakes and flecks of the substance land on deans face and neck. He wipes his face with his bare arm, and now he smells completely of the stuff. He doesn't care.

And he doesn't want to cry. There aren't any tears that can be spilt because he feels too empty. His belly may be full of alcohol, but his soul pulls a blank. It sort of does that when things aren't good with Cas. So dean supposes that if Cas never comes back, he'll have to ask Sammy for the "Living Soulless: 101" guidebook.

His forehead is damp. The light on the bedside flickers once…twice. After several seconds, the lamp is out with a small _click._

"Wh-…"

"No Dean. That…is not true."

Despite his anger for Cas, his heart implodes in on itself with an extract of relief and excitement. The dimness of the room does not obstruct Castiel, who seems, still, a bright light.

But instead –

"Cas…what are you doing here-"

"Dean. Please. I…"

"You…you know what? You should go, Cas. You should just-"

Dean is stopped mid sentence when, within single flap, Cas is suddenly inches from Dean, looking him directly in the eyes. The Winchester finds that he cannot complete his sentence because…well – he does not even really remember what it was that he was going to say.

"I do not want to go."

Dean Winchester loves pie. He has cravings for pie. He likes some good beef, too. And Dean was craving something desperately now. It isn't a burger. And it isn't pie, either, and somehow he knows it is very sweet – just like pie but maybe better.

Dean remembers this weird feeling. He remembers that when Cas lay beside him, consoled him simply by being there when Sam was not – his craving went away.

And this feels kind of like that, except when Cas is this close to him, it only gets worse. He can't really figure out why, except that he feels as if he is looking at a highly palatable piece of warm pie that he is not yet eating. But Dean likes pie, and he wants to eat pie. Because he craves it.

Dean has a bizarre impulse, and it springs upon him from the depths of his gut, forcing him. _Making_ him.

He finds it very strange that he is about to do what he thinks he is about to do, and a small grin tugs at his mouth. Cas quirks his head, looking puzzled.

Dean swoops down upon the shorter angel for a sweet, gentle kiss. Oh…_jesus. _Cas's lips are chaste, and warm. Like a young virgin. A wave of satisfaction sucker punches Dean directly in his stomach, and he nearly reels backwards. The craving is not lessened. It is heated and pulsating, still inside of Dean.

Cas is frozen for a moment, before he stands on his toes and launches himself against Dean with supernatural force. Dean forgets that it is an Angel he is currently holding, _Cas_ no less, and they are sent tumbling backwards.

Dean is not angry at Cas any longer. When Dean has a craving for something, for pie, he eats his pie. He eats all of his pie.

He rolls on top of the little angel with Icelandic eyes, and lowers his own mouth to Cas's sweet, virginal lips. His stomach is dancing and writhing with excitement, and this is the best pie he has ever tasted.

He moistens Cas's dry mouth - he nips and sucks. He runs his tongue along each lip, and cannot pull himself away. As soon as he feels Cas's delicate, rosy tongue swipe his bottom lip, he cannot prevent a whine that morphs into a desperate moan from rising out of him.

He pulls away. Cas's chest he heaving, each breath emitting a small noise of exhaustion, perhaps, or an overwhelming sense of arousal.

The lips that were once chaste are now pink, swollen. They are no longer virginal. And Dean's stomach is half full with the nicest pie he's ever had.

With a flap, the beautiful disheveled angel underneath him is gone. Dean thumps onto the ground, feeling startled.

"Jesus Christ!"

The Motel room is empty now, and Dean decides its time to get his ass back to Bobby and Sam to work this mess out, because whatever is happening to Cas – he knows it can be solved.

And who knows what all these cravings mean. Sometimes cravings mean stuff, don't they? Dean thinks. Like women being pregnant. Or having a lack of nutritional content in your diet.

Or a lack of Angel kisses, maybe.


End file.
